I've had endless streams of emails, (READ: three), wondering where the hell I have been and when am I coming back and whatnot, and that's when I learned the problem with disappearing off the face of the internet is that you can't come back without a missing limb or stories of rescuing orphans from mountain tops. Because simply saying "Oh, hi. I'm a lazy person with not a lot to say," doesn't quite cut it. But here's to hoping a slightly relevant video of my hand playing ukulele will trick people into forgetting what an internet-abandoning asshole I am. Why the hand? Because my hand doesn't need to put a bra on and brush its hair in order to be video taped.
If only I could send my hand to the bank and grocery store. My hand needs to start pulling its weight around here.
I turned 30, and the huz did what he could with 4 days notice, (because I lied through my teeth about my real age), and threw me a party. The man got up at 3 am to decorate so I would be surprised when I woke up. I was so appreciative of that, but then I wanted to stab him because for all the years I've known him, he has feigned decorating ignorance and his job has always been to remove the children from the house and leave everything up to me. That bastard was hiding his superior decorating skills all these years. Now his official title is Balloon-Inflating-Streamer-Hanger-Upper. It is not Cake-Picker-Outter though, since the I Hope You Die cake. In case you can't see it, this is a cake topped with the grim reaper holding a hatchet, and watching over a freshly dug grave, that is meant for me. Internets, this was an option at a bakery somewhere. Under the category: birthday.
|Because nothing says "Happy Birthday" like a shallow grave.|
Later on this happened, because shockingly, everybody I know brought me wine. And shockingly, I tried to drink all of it.
So it didn't surprise anyone when this happened shortly thereafter.
|You'd think he'd have learned by now to watch his back.|
My mom says that since I'm 30 I need to be more mature and keep my house clean,(though I'm not sure it counts if my mom is still wagging her finger at me to get me to do it). Even so, I've been trying to keep on top of dishes and laundry heaps and the piles of crap that seem to have a magnetic pull to my kitchen island. I can say that here because you can't see through the screen to the hot mess that is actually happening up in this piece. Count your blessings, internets. Mackenzie turned 5 in September, and Tinkerbell and birthday banners are still dominating the walls. There is no excuse for probably anything I have done in the last two months. Maturity is overrated after all.